Excerpt from my Letter to Theresa, 24 November

"...Speaking of which, I almost died last night. I was biking home from the music place, and this car suddenly stops in front of me. At first I thought it was going to park in a spot beside me, so I swerved to pass it on its left; without signaling either way, the car then suddenly veers towards me, making to sideswipe me, and I had a split-second prescience that I was about to be badly hurt--I'm serious, I started to feel myself go numb. Using my classically-trained voice, I yelled "WOOOOAAARGGH" (which is wookie for "You May Break My Body But You Will Not Break My Implacable Spirit, Which Will Haunt Your Miserable Kith and Kin For the Rest of Your Unnatural Days"), and the car screeches, leaving me just inches to clear its front bumper. Inside were a bunch of girls obviously going clubbing, and they were all gasping in fear and astonishment. The driver had her hands to her mouth, which is, I would venture, not the best idea when you're controlling a moving vehicle. I have no idea what kind of traffic maneuver she was trying to pull off; best I can think is that she was trying to do a mid-street u-turn, even though it's a one-way street. I glanced back daggers and kept on pedaling. And for the rest of the ride home I thought about health insurance and how many more lights I could possibly fit on my person. .."



An Eventful Weekend

On Thursday I joined another show at ART, "Inspecting Carol." They needed a sound board op at the last minute and I owe the production manager over there more than a few favors, so I took up the call with alacrity. Sound Board involves things like pressing buttons quickly and preventing small catastrophes from turning into big ones. It's a paycheck, and I'm loyal to the best elements of ART. Plus, I like wearing black. It streamlines some of the more complicated considerations for me, like, say, dressing myself before going out into the world.

On Sunday, I was assigned to understudy a castmember in the event that the worst should come to happen, and someone has to miss a show for health reasons. My previous experience of the grueling ART performance schedule leads me to expect that I will be needed onstage at some point.

In the midst of the long tech rehearsals for "Carol", friends from SF were in town for someone's wedding, and I played host to them in my disheveled house through the wee hours of the night. And then there was the breakfast with Randall, the meeting with Emily-Jane, the late night tryst with T, the repeated airport missions, and so forth.

Late now on Sunday night, I'm overjoyed to discover that I have no shows planned for tommorrow. Tommorrow is the first true non-working-day I've had since before Metamorphoses. (Almost every other day has involved shuffling or accommodating for some other stressful piece of my whacked out world.) I'd recorded this in my book of days, but I'd forgotten about it until I actually checked my schedule tonight, and lo and behold the only engagement I have listed, is donating plasma to the Red Cross at 2:30.

Planning on attending a playwrights' workshop in the evening. Oh but it will be lovely to sleep in.



I tell you, there is virtue in singing badly.

I had dinner and some drinks with my good friend Erika tonight, one of my best friends in the world. We compared notes on the whole 'being-a-grown-up' thing. We ate pizza and drank beer. And then, because it was right next door, we went to the karaoke bar where I introduced her to that strange little piece of me that loves to sing badly.

I pulled out my old standard, Ray Charle's "What'd I Say", because it's still my strongest piece. And I tried Rick James' 'Superfreak' for the first time, which sucked, but it was still great fun. And then we played Pac-Man for a bit and then I came home.

In my job search, as in any object in which I approach things as a supplicant of some kind, it takes something from me to humble myself before someone else's requirements. I'm not saying that's a bad thing; it's good, indeed, to submit in a fair exchange of labor and experience. But it costs a little something from me, and it was important to have a good meal with a very close friend and then to unleash my inner soul brotha even if only for long enough to know that I will never make it to Motown in this life, alas.

Erika had never seen my karaoke-monster before. She was very pleased at my appetite for public humiliation.




I'm looking for an extra part-time job to supplement my sadly anemic income stream right now.

  • I'd like to actually make more money than I spend doing said occupation.
  • Must not involve murdering or torturing small children or animals. (I've had quite enough of that particular career track, thank you very much.)
  • No gratuitous anaesthetization of my soul, please.
Possible candidates thus far:
  • Deliver papers at the butt-crack of dawn.
  • Drive trucks to deliver papers to the people who deliver papers at the butt-crack of dawn.
  • Sexton for a progressive church.
  • Dispatch trucks for a manufacturing company.
  • Appointment Setter for an alternative health care concern.
  • Addiction/Detox worker for a nonprofit.
  • Sales clerk for a chocolate boutique.

Looking for a job is fun, in that deadening, grimly sardonic sort of way. In the meantime, I'm posting a lot here to 1) make up for those lost months and 2) participate in National Blog Posting Month. Because I'm Just That Cool. (I'll put up the logo decal in a little bit.)

Please, save your craven, petty, overwrought and jealous passions for later.